The Tragedies of Sands and El
by zelasswilder
Summary: El and Sands talk in Mc Donalds about everybody’s favorite literary staple; Shakespeare. rated M for Language.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own OUATIM or King Lear.

**Authors Notes**: I read King Lear and Gloucester hit close to home for me. Decided to write this.

* * *

"Maybe it wouldn't have pissed me off so fucking badly if she'd at least been original."

El blinked, turning his head to look at his companion for a long moment. His head cocked and he set his burger down. They were eating at a Mc Donalds, it was cheap and it seemed to make Sands happier because of the American grease so if the ex-agent ever got irritable El found it to be best to feed him something from his home-land. The United States just happened to specialize in artery clogging hamburger meat. "What are you talking about?" El inquired, incredibly confused now.

Sands shrugged and took a bite of his fry curtly before swallowing the salty goodness, "If she'd been more dog-fuckingly original I might not feel so emotionally raped, El."

"I still don't understand," El grumbled, picking the burger up. "Are you talking about your eyes?"

"No, I'm talking about the other unoriginal shitty thing done to me. Getting stuck with you- oh wait, that's the most original torture ever because most people _looooove_ you."

"People like me because I'm mostly pleasant."

"Mostly meaning a majority of the time people enjoy your company unless you're shooting somebody?" Sands innocently asked.

"You know exactly what I mean, no need to bring it up in this trashy restaurant," El spat.

"Mccy D's is not a restaurant, dip-shit," Sands laughed, "It's a fast-food facility. One step up from a Quick Trip."

"How is what she did in any way unoriginal?" El went back on subject, looking across the booth at Sands expectantly.

"You ever read _The Tragedy of King Lear_?"

"…"

"Of course not. Uncultured Mexican fucker," Sands insulted.

"What makes you think I'm familiar with Shakespeare?"

Sands's eyebrows raised, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised. The fact you even know it's Shakespeare is a step up. You've just been lifted up a peg on the totem-pole of intelligence," he now smiled cattily, "You're above the cashier now and you weren't when you walked in. Congrats, El."

"Carolina owned a bookstore. Sometimes we talked about books."

"If you want to get technical it's kind of a play, El," Sands chimed.

"I don't want to get technical. I don't like Shakespeare," El scoffed, shaking his head and giving a sharp jingle in his spot.

"I wouldn't figure you would. Too closely associated to your life?" Sands cocked his head and looking his direction with an un-seeing stare.

"No, I don't understand it."

"Oh. I guess the dead lovers and blind once-powerful characters wouldn't mean shit to somebody who's ESL," realization calmly sunk onto Sands's face and he ate another fry.

"ESL?"

"English as a Second Language."

"Don't use anagrams with an ESL, that's just shitty of you."

"Thanks."

"Continue, Sands."

"Oh yeah. Well, in King Lear there's this fucker who trusts the wrong people. He doesn't realize it until he's tied to a chair and get's his eyes popped out," Sands leaned back in the seat and El's face softened. "Out vile jelly!" Sands quoted, lazily waving his arm around with a fry grasped between two fingers.

"I'm sure Ajedrez didn't say 'Out vile jelly' though, when they did what they did to you," El reminded.

"No, I don't 'spose she did," Sands mused. "She'd be Regan," he decided. "Barillo was Cornwall."

"I have no _idea_ who those people are," El grumbled in childish annoyance as he resumed eating.

"I'd be Gloucester, by default, cause I lost my eyes and I stupidly trusted Regan, Cornwall, and Edmund… She'd be Edmund too," he nodded.

Silence fell between the two for a long moment. "You'd be Edgar," Sands declared.

"Who the FUCK is that?" El snipped, short with patience when it came to the vague references to a play he never read.

"Edgar. He guides Gloucester around after his eyes are taken out, but only after he loses everything," Sands smiled, "Fits you to a T, I must say, El."

"Our names even both start with an E. You definitely thought this through," the mariachi dryly responded across the table and Sands chuckled.

"Or maybe you'd be Lear."

"I'm one thing right now and that would be 'pissed off' because you keep talking about this stupid play. I hate Shakespeare," El stared at Sands firmly although he knew it would have no affect, "So shut the fuck up about his stupid stories."

"He'd have loved you though. You're a big walking sob story, El. The Tragedy of El Mariachi," Sands mused with a smile, "Oh, it's so dramatic. I love it."

"Glad somebody gets a kick out of it."

"Oh, where art thou, El? Thou art blasting out the brains of thy drug-dealers? Oh, alas, what a tangled web thee weaves," recited the blind pale man across from El.

"I'm going to leave you here if you keep that up," El growled.

"Et tu, El?" insisted Sands.

"Shut up."

"Hath not a Jew's eyes?" he pressed.

"Shut up, you asshole."

There was silence before Sands took a deep dramatic breath, "Asses are made to bear, and so are _you."_

"That's it. I'm leaving you here," El stood up.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow!"

El began jingling off. "Oh, you're actually leaving? Well, shit," Sands grabbed his food and jumped to his feet, hurrying after him and leaving a very confused staff of Mexican Mc Donald's workers to ponder the words with Shakespeare.

None of them happened to have any luck understanding the words though.


End file.
